 |
| Carol Oberg Riley |
Sometimes the soul speaks in images or
music or metaphors. There is no rhyme or
reason, there is no logic. The picture
or the sound just tugs and pulls and whistles, and you trip trap after it into
the forest, or away and up the track, apart from everything known. You follow
its footsteps in the snow, stumbling blind.
Snow.
How strange, how very strange that I, who feel the cold so fiercely, am
so entranced by snow.
Not tame snow. Not back garden snow.
Not snowman snow. Wilderness. Vastness. Emptiness. Deserts of snow.
And, somewhere, hidden in the forest,
by the flanks of mountains, by a fast-running river frozen to ice atop, while
below the water slows its heartbeat, there is a cabin. A glowing. Simple. Plain. Snug. Fire. A log pile. An axe. Furs.
Candlelight.
It’s not real. It’s very real. It’s nothing. It’s everything.
6 comments:
Furs...? :o(
umanymAg
I feel the same way ! I sometimes go on little trips in my mind and often I am walking through a pristine snowy landscape and come upon a warm,homely cabin where lives an old wise woman who offers me soup and a bed for the night.
Mr Jung work that one out!!!
@Everything - they died of boredom. Or were faking. :)
@Angela - Mr Jung built his own cabin in the woods. :)
I used to be fanatical about cross-country skiing and there was nothing better than going off alone through the forests and sometimes stumbling across cabins half buried in snow or watching the wildlife that seemed to ignore you provided you kept moving.
Three years ago, when we had enough snow in the secret valley, I finally achieved my dream - skiing from the back door of my house. I hung up my skis after that.
Lovely photos, brought back many happy memories.
Happy New Year, Jane.
Johnson
Thanks for sharing my painting, "Footprints in the Snow". Carol Ober gRiley
You are welcome, Carol. It's so evocative. Do please feel free to give us a link to a website where we can see more of your work. Jane
Post a Comment